


et tu, brute?

by kitanthony



Series: survivor's guilt [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, Root plays a minor role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitanthony/pseuds/kitanthony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 'YHWH', Finch and Root are working around the clock just trying to keep the Machine in a stable condition. However, the Machine continues to stay true to its priorities: the people it watches over. In its damaged and incomplete state, it manages to pass on the last few persons of interest it was researching before it was shut down. On the list of potential numbers is Elias' accountant and friend, Bruce Moran. </p><p>Can be considered a sequel to the stories 'invictus maneo' and 'the devil you knew,' but works just as well as a stand-alone story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

In Team Machine’s underground subway headquarters, Finch and Root were busy working on getting their AI back to fully-operational. It had been weeks since they rescued the Machine from certain death, and so far all they’d gotten out of it was a few blips for signs of life.

Meanwhile, Reese was busy helping Fusco as best as he could while working in the shadows. Samaritan may still be blind to Reese, but its operatives would be keeping an eye on his old precinct just in case he showed up, so he had to give the place a wide berth for the time being.

“Any updates, Finch?” Reese asked over their open line.

“Not since you asked me two hours ago, Mr. Reese,” Finch said dryly.

“I’m just a little concerned,” Reese said. “Fusco’s got a lot on his plate right now, I can’t help but wonder how many of these bodies were supposed to be numbers.”

“I completely share your concerns, John. We’re working as fast as we can. It took me years to get the Machine up and running, it’s going to take more than a few weeks to do it again. Even with Ms. Groves’ help.”

“I know,” Reese sighed. “I’m just feeling uneasy, and it doesn’t help that I can’t do anything to speed this process along.”

“Then I suggest you return to the detective’s side as soon as you can,” Finch said and ended the call.

Root was working on getting a new monitor set up so they had something to connect the Machine’s core to, in an attempt to reestablish communication with it. “She won’t be connected to any network,” she explained. “We can’t risk it until we find a way to get her back online without Samaritan finding out. However, I’m sure she already has some ideas about that.”

“You’re hinging an awful lot of hope on the idea that the Machine was able to simultaneously watch over the entire world, transfer itself to the phone lines, and plan a way to gain back its previous reach without alerting Samaritan,” Finch pointed out.

“She saw this coming weeks in advance,” Root countered. “Besides, anything she can give us will leave us better off than we are now.” She finished wiring the monitor to the tower that the Machine’s core was plugged into, and turned the monitor’s screen on as well as the old-fashioned webcam sitting on top of it. Then she turned to Finch. “Something tells me I’m not the first thing she’ll want to see when she wakes up.”

Finch approached hesitantly and sat at the chair in front of the monitor, looking from the webcam to the screen. “Can you hear me?”

The blue screen didn’t change.

“Please,” Finch whispered. “Wake up.”

The screen flickered, then turned black. For a long moment, there was nothing. Then static crackled across the monitor. Through the fuzz, a word could be read: _Father._

“That’s right,” Finch said. “It’s me.”

A little window replaced the words, a notification that there was a file that wasn’t deleted from the drive because it was in use.

“What’s this?” Finch asked. There was no mouse attached to the monitor yet, but there was a keyboard. He pressed the ‘enter’ key and it opened the file in question. It was a mere exec. document, full of coding and random strings of numbers, references to commands the Machine was no longer able to execute in its current state. Scanning through it, Finch could tell the Machine had been trying to save as much of what it was last working on before it was taken offline. “Ms. Groves, bring me that old printer we fixed up yesterday.”

Root hefted the bulky device over to the table Finch was sitting at and dropped it on the ground beside him. She got to work hooking it up manually to the tower.

Once it was plugged in, Finch tapped the command into the keyboard to print the file.

“What is it?” Root asked.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Finch said. “But if the Machine used its dying breath to take this with it, it must be important.” He watched paper after paper of code and numbers spit out of the printer. Once it was done, he took the small stack and looked through it.

“She’s saying something,” Root said. She read the words on the screen aloud, “ _Help them_. What does she mean?”

Finch looked from the monitor to the pages in his hands. “I believe the Machine has just given us a list of the last numbers it was looking into before it was shut down.”

-

“The Machine gave us numbers?” Reese asked, voice coming through the speakers in the subway car.

“We’re going through them now,” Finch said, tapping away at his main computer. “So far four of these people are already dead or under arrest for their crimes. One disappeared without a trace, possibly on the run or under witness protection considering what she was mixed up in. These numbers aren’t sure leads, they’re just red flags the Machine was keeping an eye on.”

Root, sitting in front of the monitor the Machine was hooked up to, fed him the next string of numbers she found in the pages that was long enough to be a social security number.

Finch searched it as quickly as he could. “Wait, I think I have something.”

“Are you sure?” Reese asked.

“No,” Finch admitted. “There’s no way to be sure which of these people need our help and which are duds, but I have the feeling this one’s the former.”

“What makes you think that, Finch?” Reese asked.

“It’s someone we’ve encountered before,” Finch said. “You remember our late friend Elias?”

“How could I forget,” Reese commented.

“Well this social security number is that of his accountant,” Finch said, “the one from the boardwalk.”

“Bruce Moran,” Reese muttered.

“Perhaps Mr. Moran is having trouble with the loss of his friend.”

“Something tells me he’s not the type to go to a grief counselor for help.”

“More like a gun for hire,” Finch grumbled.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got an address for me?”

“Just the remodeled group home where Mr. Marconi was killed.”

“I’m going to look for Moran now,” Reese said.

“And where are you planning on going?” Finch asked.

“Moran was a close friend of Elias,” Reese said. “So I’m going to visit a few old acquaintances.”


	2. two

With Finch’s help, Reese tracked down a handful of the men who worked for Elias within the hour. After spending a little Reese-type quality time with them, he got the location for another one of Bruce’s offices.

Bruce’s second office was buried among a number of other private accounting offices. Reese scoured the place for clues to Bruce’s location, but it was evident there hadn’t been anyone there in a while. Probably since Elias was killed. Luckily it wasn’t a total bust, since Finch was able to dig up the address Bruce used when he rented the place.

“Still nothing by way of a phone number, Finch?” Reese asked as he drove towards the apartment building.

“It seems Mr. Moran was as big a fan of burner phones as his friends,” Finch commented. “The few numbers I found have all been disconnected.”

“And his credit cards?” Reese asked.

“Please,” Finch scoffed. “Moran was Elias’ personal accountant, half of his job was to make sure the accounts linked to Elias’ organization were untraceable and untouchable. We’re not going to find him using a card under his name at a gas station. This man is a ghost when it comes to the digital world.”

“So we’re on a wild goose chase,” Reese concluded. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just wander the streets of New York looking for him?”

“You mentioned that, the day Anthony died, Elias took a picture from the desk at Moran’s first office,” Finch reminded. “If Moran kept personal memorabilia at a building meant to explode, maybe he left something behind at his apartment too. Even if it _is_ just a red herring.”

“Alright, I’m here,” Reese said. He parked down the street from the apartment building and headed over from there.

Once he was in the apartment, Reese started poking around. “Well he certainly has the same tastes as his old friend. Not sure there’s anything to find here of _personal_ value though.” He checked under the bed and hummed. “He forgot to take his firearm.” He took the gun he found from its hiding place under the bed-frame and stood, inspecting it. Then he tucked it into his trousers and continued his search.

Aside from a suitcase prepared for a quick escape, there was nothing to find in the apartment.

“It’s another dead end, Finch,” Reese said. “I’m starting to think this guy doesn’t want to be found. Maybe we should just let him stay in whatever hole he crawled into.”

“If the Machine was looking into him, it must’ve seen something big coming,” Finch said. “It either saw a potential threat to him, or saw him as a potential threat. Either way, Mr. Moran’s is the last number in the pages it gave us.”

“So we have nothing better to do until it’s back online,” Reese said with a sigh.

Suddenly, a phone rang from somewhere nearby. Reese dug through the pre-packed suitcase until he found it. He flipped it open and answered the call.

“Hello there,” a voice called through the phone’s speaker. “John, right?”

“Bruce Moran,” Reese guessed. “How long have you been surveilling me?”

“Just since you broke into my apartment,” Bruce answered. “Elias said you might come looking for me, so when I heard through the grapevine that someone was asking around, I thought it might be you.”

“Look, is there some way we can talk that’s a little less one-sided?” John asked. “I’m tired of chasing your coattails.”

“You know, Elias really liked you and your friend,” Bruce said, rather than answering. “He told me about your first meeting, Harold’s visits to him in prison, pretty much everything. Still, he never mentioned how you do what you do.”

“Maybe that’s because he didn’t know,” Reese remarked.

Bruce chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

“What do you want, Bruce?” Reese asked.

“I want to know what happened to my friend,” Bruce stated, all-business now. “And don’t tell me it was a stalemate between gang leaders, I know that’s just a coverup. From what I’ve heard, you have a knack for knowing things that even people like me don’t know. If you share whatever information you have about Elias’ death with me, well, I’m sure there’s plenty of things I can do for you in return.”

“Why, so you can go on a mission for revenge like Elias did for Anthony?” Reese accused.

Bruce sighed. “The conclusion to that ballad was…unfortunate. Believe me when I say, I have no intentions of following my Elias’ misguided path for vengeance. What I’m looking for is closure. As a man who prides himself on knowing things, you can imagine how it must feel being unable to understand the circumstances surrounding my friend’s fate.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?” Reese asked.

“Considering how well you knew Elias, I would think that would be enough,” Bruce returned. “Besides, according to you, you have nothing better to do than hunt me down. How long do you think that’ll take without my cooperation?”

Reese fell silent, annoyed that Bruce was right. Even if he talked to more of Elias’ old crew, it was highly probable they knew less about Bruce than Reese did.

“That’s what I thought,” Bruce said. “Now, meet me at the first place you spoke with Elias. 2:30. See you there.” The line was disconnected.

Reese made his way out of the apartment and back to his car. “Any luck tracing that call, Finch?”

“Yes, but I highly doubt he’s at a brothel in Moscow.”

“This guy’s good,” Reese commented.

“Even if we did find where that call really originated from, it’s almost certain he’s gotten rid of that phone by now.”

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

-

Reese arrived at the apartment building where Elias had been staying under the guise of Charlie Burton, and returned to the roof of the building next-door from where he first scoped out the place. Looking through the window into the apartment with binoculars, he frowned. “Looks like the current tenant of Elias’ old place is still home, and it isn’t Bruce Moran.”

“No,” Finch confirmed, “that would be one Genevieve Marsol, an older woman with a fondness for felines.”

“Anything to suspect a connection between the crazy cat lady and our ghost accountant?” Reese asked.

“Aside from a misdemeanor and a few parking violations from a few decades ago, there’s nothing to suggest that Ms. Marsol is involved in anything criminal.”

“We’re supposed to be meeting Moran in ten minutes, Finch,” Reese pointed out. “There’s no sign of anyone approaching the building by vehicle or otherwise. We’ve been sent after another red herring.”

“Perhaps not,” Finch argued. “Mr. Moran told you to meet him where you first spoke with Elias.”

“Which was in the currently feline-infested apartment I’m looking at,” Reese pointed out.

“Maybe he wasn’t being quite so literal,” Finch suggested. “When you met Elias, you were still under the impression he was Charlie Burton, the high school history teacher. You didn’t find out his true identity until…”

“The ferry,” Reese finished. “He’s on the East River ferry.” He ran down the metal stairs to the concrete below and headed for Pier 11.


	3. three

Reese boarded the ferry once it arrived at Pier 11, and found Bruce leaning on the rails just feet away from where Elias had been standing when he pulled a gun on Reese for the first time.

“For a minute, I was worried you weren’t as clever as Elias made you out to be,” Bruce said as he turned to look at Reese. “He’s gone and yet he’s still proving me wrong.”

“I’m sorry about your friends,” Reese said.

“I always knew Anthony would get himself killed eventually,” Bruce said. “But I have to admit, I didn’t expect to outlive both of them. I suppose it’s a perk of being essentially non-existent.”

“Or a curse,” Reese returned.

Bruce smirked. “How have you and Harold been?”

“Right now I’m more interested in how you’re doing,” Reese said. “I have it on good authority you’re going to be in trouble soon. Have you noticed anything suspicious as of late?”

“Your mysterious source of impossible information,” Bruce guessed. “No, the only red flag is why a sniper took out both my friend and his competitor. One or the other I could understand, but why kill both of them?”

“Maybe someone was trying to clean up the streets,” Reese suggested.

“The authorities have even more work on their hands now that both organizations have scattered into the wind,” Bruce said. “Besides, even corrupt officers would’ve preferred arresting Elias and Dominic so they could be questioned.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t add up. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Surely someone with yours and Harold’s resources knows something about what really went down?”

Reese pursed his lips, unsure what to say because the truth was that all the signs pointed towards Samaritan being the culprit behind Elias and Dominic’s deaths, as well as a number of others that occurred on the same night. It seemed Samaritan was trying to gain complete control over people, taking out anyone who threatened its reign. This included criminals, politicians, the occasional CEO, anyone who might try to use their power to rebel against Samaritan.

“Please,” Bruce said. “I would give anything to know what happened to my friend. And I have a lot to offer.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Reese said sincerely. “This one’s above your pay grade.”

Bruce slowly nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”

There was an explosion off in the distance, somewhere in the city. Smoke curled up into the sky.

Reese pulled out his gun and took aim, prepared to shoot. “What’s going on, Bruce?” he demanded.

Bruce raised his hands in surrender. “The next one will be at a shopping center. Then a hospital. Then a school. And on and on until you tell me what I want to know.”

“And how do I know you can stop the explosions?” Reese growled out.

“You’ll just have to trust me, John,” Bruce said. “But if you do that, I’ll trust you in return.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got about one minute before some unlucky shoppers get more than what they bargained for.”

“Mr. Reese?” Finch called out. “Let me talk to him.”

Reese dug his phone out of his pocket. “Call off the bombs. Someone wants to have a word with you.” He put the call on speakerphone.

Bruce nodded and slowly retrieved his phone, sending a quick text. “Now you’ve got ten minutes.” He gestured towards Reese. “Dazzle me.”

“Mr. Moran,” Finch greeted.

“Could this be Harold?” Bruce asked. “The revered chess partner?”

“Mr. Moran, what happened to Elias was a result of a force far greater than you can hope to understand,” Finch explained. “I tried to warned Elias, and he trusted me. I’m asking you to do the same.”

“You’re talking about top-secret, CIA operations?” Bruce asked.

“Even bigger,” Finch said. “It’s not safe to talk about on a public ferry. Follow John to a safe-house, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Finch,” Reese started, “are you sure—”

“It’s the only way, Mr. Reese,” Finch said. Then he addressed Bruce again, “I need your word, Mr. Moran, that no one else will be harmed before we have the chance to talk.”

Bruce was already typing out another text on his phone. “Anything for you, Harold. I wouldn’t dream of risking my chance to meet you.”

“Then I’ll see you soon.”

Reese dropped his phone back in his pocket and approached Bruce, grabbing his arm roughly to lead him off the ferry at its next stop. They took a cab part of the way and walked the rest to the safe-house. Bruce agreed to be blindfolded with his tie the whole way, although Reese had the feeling that wouldn’t impede his ability to find the place much if he wanted to return.

-

Once inside the safe-house, Reese dropped Bruce on the couch across from where Finch was already sitting. Bruce removed his tie from around his head and stared at Finch, studying him.

“Nice to meet you, Harold,” Bruce greeted.

“I’m not sure I can say the same to you, Mr. Moran,” Finch retorted. “Though I looked into the building you destroyed. An old, empty house that was scheduled to be torn down last week. Construction was inexplicably delayed because an anonymous, private party wanted to use it for some kind of experiment today. The story is, something went wrong and caused the explosion, although the men conducting it were conveniently elsewhere when it went off.”

“Huh.” Bruce began tying his tie back around his neck. “I’ve never understood scientists. They’re a bit eccentric for my taste.”

“I suppose you prefer the leaders of criminal organizations,” Finch deadpanned.

Bruce smiled. “I suppose I do.”

“I have to know how many people you’re prepared to kill to get your answers,” Finch said. “It appears to be a much lower number than I originally suspected.”

“Elias did go on once or twice about your morals,” Bruce said the last word as though he were talking about a concept he didn’t believe in. “I wanted to meet you but I had the feeling a pile of bodies would start us off on the wrong foot. Now usually that wouldn’t matter much to me, but I thought it would be disrespectful of my friend’s memory to do that to someone he held in such high regard.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Finch said carefully. “The world is a messier, more dangerous place now that Elias is gone.”

“And what about your loss, Harold?” Bruce asked. “Elias was your opponent in chess, an intellectual sparring partner. Despite the problems you had with his methods and line of work, you had an undeniable bond.”

“I admit that I sometimes miss our encounters,” Finch allowed. “But I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Moran.”

“Tell me the truth,” Bruce begged. “Who killed Elias? And why?”

“From one individual who has always been fixated on knowledge to another, please believe me when I say, you don’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

“To get even the slightest taste of what you’re investigating would only lead you down a path that would destroy you. Or cause you to destroy yourself.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, I only seek closure, nothing more.”

“You won’t find it in the truth surrounding Elias’ death.”

“How can you be sure?” Bruce demanded.

“Because it hasn’t helped me,” Finch shot back, voice raised. He took a deep breath before continuing at his normal volume, “I sought closure in the same places you’re looking now. After all that’s happened recently, everyone I’ve lost, Elias’ death still hurt. I find myself grieving a man I can barely acknowledge that I liked.” He dropped to a harsh whisper as he said, “I miss him.”

Bruce swallowed and nodded slowly. “I miss him, too.”

“I never actually thought…” Finch trailed off. “My point is, knowing what I do hasn’t made anything better. In fact, I often find myself wishing I knew nothing of the truth behind it all. I haven’t found closure for anyone whose death is tied with Elias’, much less the loss of the man himself. I was only an intellectual peer, an occasional ally, how could I believe that this knowledge would do anything but damage to Elias’ only remaining friend?”

Bruce clenched his fists where they rested on his knees. “John, would you escort me outside? I don’t want to frighten Harold.”

Reese looked at him suspiciously but grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside anyway.

The door had barely closed behind them before Bruce threw the first punch.

 

 


	4. four

A few minutes later, Bruce returned with his glasses in his hand, sporting tousled hair, a split lip, a cut across his cheek, and a slight limp.

Reese followed close behind looking much the same as he had before, though he was straightening out his suit.

“Mr. Reese?” Finch asked, worried.

“He started it,” Reese said innocently.

“I did,” Bruce confirmed, dropping back onto the couch and grinning up at Reese. “Thank you, John. I really needed that.”

Reese smiled unsurely. “Anytime.”

“No wonder Anthony didn’t pose a problem to you,” Bruce remarked. “I heard you threw him across a room.”

“He was in my way,” Reese recalled.

Bruce laughed, loud and warm, wincing as he did so.

“Your mood seems to have vastly improved since you left,” Finch commented.

“Sometimes I get agitated,” Bruce explained as he cleaned his glasses. “If it escalates to where I can’t control it, I lose focus. Then I’m not much use to myself, not to mention anyone else. Now if you were one of my clients, I would have no problem smashing everything I can get my hands on until I calm down. In fact it would probably help get their attention. But you’re not just anyone, Harold. So I thought it would be better for everyone if I took it outside. And I have the feeling I wasn’t the only one letting off some steam, huh, John?” He placed his glasses back on his nose and looked to his recent assailant. “I felt a little pent-up rage in that right hook, some stress in that chokehold. Feel better?”

Reese gave a half-hearted shrug. “I could go another round.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bruce said. He turned back to Finch and clapped his hands together. “Now that I’m thinking clearly again, I’d like to get right back to it. I don’t think it’s your decision to make, to say whether or not the truth will bring me closure for Elias’ death. I do, however, respect that it’s your choice not to share the information you obviously have. And since threatening lives will only anger you both, and I would like us to be friends, I’m willing to let the subject drop. For now.” He opened his arms as a grand gesture. “Instead, how about we discuss why you two were looking for me in the first place, hm?”

Finch’s eyes squinted slightly. “You are an exceedingly odd individual, Mr. Moran.”

“Surprisingly so for an accountant, I know. So, can we talk about this supposed trouble in my future?”

Finch glanced at Reese before starting, “I’m sure Elias has described to some extent that we help people who find themselves in bad situations. Today, we were informed you might be one of those people.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not about to tell me what kind of source was able to point you in my direction, when I’ve spent my entire life practicing the art of being invisible.”

“Elias learned to accept the secrecy with which we conduct our business. If you would like to have anything close to the relationship we had with him, you’re going to have to do the same.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Alright. I can work on that. What about the threat, where do you think that’s coming from? Dominic’s boys?”

“Perhaps,” Finch said. “But before we go any further under the assumption that you’re the victim, I’m afraid I have to ask: Are you targeting anyone?”

“No, absolutely not,” Bruce said vehemently. “I’ve been focused strictly on staying hidden. Now I was looking into John, trying to learn more about him, but only because I wanted to have the very conversations we’re having today.” He gestured off to the side and added, “Except I hadn’t planned on John breaking into my apartment because he thought I was in danger. Or a danger.”

“You’ve been investigating me?” Reese asked. “You didn’t even buy me a drink.”

“I don’t suppose you found anything noteworthy?” Finch asked.

“I figured out what precinct you used to work at,” Bruce told Reese. “Looked through everything I had on your partner, Lionel Fusco. You know he used to work for HR, right?”

“Yes,” Reese said. “Because I told him to.”

“He’s also the main reason HR was taken down by the FBI,” Finch added.

Bruce looked between the two of them and chuckled. “You act like we’re so different, but we’re not. I had an informant in with HR too, although she had to seduce her way into their good graces for me.”

“I’m glad Fusco didn’t have to rely on that technique,” Reese remarked. “What else did you find on me?”

“At first, nothing I didn’t know already. I started to think I wasn’t gonna get anywhere until one of my guys on the street reported a shady-looking guy scoping out the police station. My guy followed him, and saw him meet up with someone else who we hadn’t noticed until then. Turns out he’s someone important. I don’t know who, yet, but he has at least a handful of people under his control who my informants have seen poking around the same places they were told to, looking for information about you. Such as where you are now.” Bruce pulled a little notebook out of his inside jacket pocket and flipped through it to the page he wanted. “Here’s a picture of him.” He pulled out a wallet-sized picture, clearly cropped to be a headshot.

Finch and Reese leaned toward Bruce to look at the photo, then shared a knowing glance. It was Samaritan’s agent, Jeremy Lambert. The one who had shot Reese the day they took Shaw.

“You know him,” Bruce concluded from their expressions.

“We know of him,” Finch corrected. “Please continue.”

“That’s basically it,” Bruce said. “I sent a couple of informants to follow blondie here, since he’s clearly in charge, and I haven’t heard from them since. Now, a third of my guys won’t even go near the precinct. They think Hobbs and Mason are dead, and that if they continue pursuing John, they’ll be next.”

“And you didn’t think this could be the threat to your life we were talking about?” Reese asked.

“They won’t find me through Hobbs and Mason,” Bruce said confidently.

“These people are pretty persuasive,” Reese insisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce countered. “Hobbs and Mason didn’t know who they were working for. I never had direct contact with them, always sent them through different channels to get their orders, so they never spoke with the same contact twice. Whoever took them will have to go through at least a dozen people before they find someone who even knows my name.” He closed the book and placed it back in his pocket. “I know how to do my job. My operation’s always been kept separate from Elias’, so if one of them was infiltrated or compromised, not all would be lost. I may not have the kind of control and power that Elias did, but I have eyes and ears everywhere. Most of them didn’t even know I’d met Elias, much less had dealings with him.”

“That guy from the restaurant, Gino, knew,” Reese pointed out.

“Gino was a necessary evil,” Bruce grumbled. “We should’ve cut him down as soon as Dominic revealed himself to the world. I always knew he was a worm.” He shrugged. “Besides, he hasn’t been able to talk to anyone in a long time. Not since Anthony.” He looked at Reese, then Finch. “You have to admit, I’ve been useful already. I think I deserve a little trust in return.”

“Or maybe I’ll take you back outside and see what else is in that notebook of yours,” Reese suggested.

Bruce took the notebook out of his pocket and held it up. “What, this?” He tore it in half and continued to shred the pages and pictures inside, then he tossed them in the air and pointed at Reese. “That is the last time you treat me like every other Jim and Joe you encounter. I deserve some respect.”

Reese tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Message received.” He looked to Finch. “Harold? A word?”

Finch stood and gestured around the room. “Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Moran. There’s drinks in the cabinet and food in the mini fridge.” Then he promptly followed Reese out the door.

 


	5. five

“I like your new friend, Harry,” Root said as she listened to Bruce tear apart his own notebook to make his point. “In one day he’s evaded your butterfly nets, blown up a building, taken a beating from John which he clearly enjoyed, waved a lead in front of your noses and promptly destroyed all the information he had in his pocket just to rub John’s nose in it.” She swiveled in her chair. “Sounds like we found the only accountant in New York who knows how to have a good time.”

“That picture he had was of Jeremy Lambert,” Finch clarified.

Root stopped her chair’s movement. “Samaritan’s Jeremy Lambert?”

“It appears he was given Rousseau’s old job,” Finch said.

“We can’t tell him more than he already knows,” Reese said. “He won’t stop digging until he lands himself right in Samaritan’s crosshairs. Besides, if Root likes him, then he can’t be trusted.”

“Cute, John,” Root said cheerily.

“I don’t see many other options, Mr. Reese,” Finch said. “I agree that we can’t let him know about the…” He glanced at the door. “The You Know What, but it’s clear he could be a great asset. Something we need now more than ever.”

“He’s a criminal, Finch,” Reese argued. “He’s probably the one who kept Elias’ organization in line while Elias was underground.”

“Yes, and if you remember, we made deals with him too,” Finch reminded. “If Mr. Moran is right about his organization’s discretion, then there doesn’t appear to be any immediate threat to him. Including from Samaritan’s operatives. Perhaps it’s time to consider that we were pointed towards Mr. Moran not because he needed our help but because we need his.”

Reese made a frustrated noise. “I’m not letting him get any closer to us until I have confirmation on this. Root, is it still talking? We need to know what its intentions are towards Bruce Moran.”

“She hasn’t said anything else,” Root said despondently. “Even now, her priority was to make sure we kept helping others.” She looked directly into the webcam. “But what about helping you?”

The screen only changed rapidly between static, darkness, and the message from earlier.

Root sighed. “I’m sorry, boys. Looks like we’re on our own with this one.”

Finch piped up after a moment, “Wait. Perhaps not. Has the screen been dark the whole time?”

“No, it’s just been flickering the last thing she said to us,” Root answered. “‘Help them’.”

“Quick, Ms. Groves,” Finch said, “go to my computer and pull up everything we had on the other social security numbers from those pages.”

Root jogged over to the subway car and sat in Finch’s seat, tapping at the keyboard for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got them.”

“The four who died, what did they do for a living?” Finch asked.

Root scrolled through the pages. “One was a local engineer, one worked at the DMV, one was a delivery man, and one was a security guard.”

“And the woman who went missing,” Finch said. “She was a technician from one of the companies competing with Caleb Phipps’ company, the one that laid off half its workers just to stay afloat. There was a big scandal about it and resentful ex-employees started spreading rumors about foul play among the company’s top management.”

“What are you getting at, Harold?” Reese asked.

“The Machine isn’t telling us to help these people,” Finch declared. “I think she’s telling them to help us.”

Root smiled, wide and relieved. “You see, Harry? I told you she had ideas.”

“But what about the other two?” Reese asked. “The ones in prison. How are they supposed to help us?”

Finch thought for a moment before hurrying back into the safe-house.

Bruce was standing at the large table in the room, flipping through one of the books he’d found on the shelf while he sipped a scotch. He raised his glass as the other two returned. “Everything alright, gentlemen?”

“I need to know if you’re acquainted with a pair of criminals,” Finch said abruptly.

Bruce blinked. “You know, when I said I have eyes and ears everywhere, I didn’t mean to imply I knew every lowlife and dirty cop in New York.”

Root instantly caught onto Finch’s train of thought and fed him the names.

“Please, Mr. Moran,” Finch said. “What do you know about a Lisa Patrick and an Arthur Swenson?”

Bruce scratched his beard, thinking. “The guys who got put away a couple weeks ago for arms dealing? They used to help Elias with transporting goods, usually the bigger stuff too. They were great, but once Elias was killed they were kind of directionless. I heard they might’ve been collecting all that heavy weaponry as part of a plot to drag Dominic’s men out from under their rocks and punish them. I guess they bought the whole ‘standoff’ bullshit the media was selling.”

Finch looked pointedly at Reese, who simply conceded.

“Why?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to them?”

Finch gestured to the seats around the table before taking his place in the one next to him.

Bruce followed suit, sitting opposite Finch.

Reese remained standing, as usual.

“Mr. Moran,” Finch started. “We were given some information, which brought you to our attention as well as a few other people. However, the information was incomplete so we had to gather the rest on our own. We’ve been working under the impression that you and the others were in need of our assistance, but now we believe that each of you ended up on our list as potential allies.”

“Sounds like maybe you’re the ones in need of assistance,” Bruce remarked. “Are Patrick and Swenson on this list?”

“Along with four people who are dead now and one who disappeared,” Finch said.

Bruce let out a low whistle. “I can try to locate the missing person, plus I can have Patrick and Swenson out of jail within a few days.”

“No, no, a prison break would draw too much attention,” Finch protested. “We’ll have to try working without those individuals for the time being.”

“Then we can focus on the missing person. That sounds easy enough.” Bruce pulled out a pen from his inner pocket and another notebook almost identical to the one he ripped up earlier. “The only things I need now are the subject’s name and a way for us to stay in touch.”

-

Since Team Machine didn’t have another private network phone to spare, the three had to come up with their own way of contacting each other. Bruce agreed to sending and receiving messages disguised to be innocent or spam, from different phone numbers and email addresses. They also drafted a simple key to use so each side had a better idea of what the message pertained to, and a few different ways to confirm their identities. It was just a start, and they would switch the key up each time they had a chance to keep anyone from breaking the code. Or any _thing_.

Then they went their separate ways, Finch and Reese returning to their underground subway station, while Bruce went back to his own hiding spot.

When Finch and Reese arrived, Root was there to greet them with good news.

“Looks like we finally got her message,” Root said, gesturing to the monitor which was dark and still. “Good job, boys.”

“I only hope we made the right decision putting our trust in Mr. Moran,” Finch said. “Regardless of his previous affiliations, we did just meet him today.”

“You don’t have to trust Bruce yet, Harry,” Root said. “You just have to trust your Machine. Now,” she raised her finger to her lips in a shushing manner. “Let her rest.” Then she trailed back to the main car.

Finch looked to Reese and tried to gauge how he was feeling.

Reese met Finch’s gaze. He gave a slight shrug and said, “At least the Machine doesn’t snore.”

 


End file.
